


fine china

by lostnfound14



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, because jill is fucking traumatized and nobody can tell me otherwise, but no sexy stuff, carlos takes care of jill, cuz read the other tags, depictions of trauma, my take on the motel scene, whole bunch of mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23955172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostnfound14/pseuds/lostnfound14
Summary: “Go back to bed,” she said again. Her breaths were shallow, panicked. That was what was happening. She was panicking. The first traitorous tear dribbled down her cheek. She dug her face into her knees to hide it.Brad. Mikhail. Tyrell. They’re all dead. Because of you.Stop, stop, stop. Make it stop. Fuck. Make itstop.
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	fine china

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Breathe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902036) by [pennedbycat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennedbycat/pseuds/pennedbycat). 



> okay so i read a jill-centered fic focusing on her trauma and it was a wonderful depiction of ptsd. and it even had some jill/carlos. it's the tagged one. anyway, i was inspired, and i hope that this feels real to anyone who reads it. i also warn that if reading semi-graphic depictions of violence triggers you, tread carefully. it feels weird to say "enjoy" due to the subject material, but uh, i at least hope this resonates with you.

Jill Valentine had seen more death than your average person. More than your average person deserved to see. Whether it was her doing the killing or her losing someone, she was still way ahead of anyone else in those regards.

And the only one that actually deserved it was that _bastard_ Nicholai. His selfish motive trumped his morals. He was willing to kill a hundred thousand people (though most of them were undead by the time the missile was announced to be launched) for a hefty paycheck. 

In the helicopter, Jill could do nothing but watch the missile sail past her and into the heart of the city. She did so with a blank expression, because she was still partially of the mind that everything that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours was some kind of PTSD-induced-hallucination.

But when she twisted in her seat to look at the man flying the helicopter, felt the leather groan under her weight, felt his soulful brown eyes turn upon her, she knew it was real.

And that broke her. It broke her heart, it broke her mind, it broke her soul. But instead of releasing that pain, she kept it inside, let it cultivate. 

Carlos stared at her for longer than necessary when they exited the helicopter. She glared back, daring (hoping for) him to say something, anything. He relented. Jill wished he didn’t. Because then, she could have told him how the image of Tyrell twitching and spewing blood was still seared into the back of her eyelids. Or how she had to watch Mikhail sacrifice his life, only for the Nemesis to come back, and stronger than it had been before. Or how she was with that poor soldier – the one Nicholai murdered in cold blood without so much as a twitch in his eye – in his final moments as a living, breathing man.

But he didn’t, so she didn’t.

They booked a room at a hotel… somewhere. It wasn’t like state lines were drawn into the ground in a way that was visible from bird’s eye view like they were in the maps. Hell if she even knew the name of the town.

She went with Carlos to the nearest thrift store to get some new clothes, because there was no way she was letting him out of her sight. Her sanity depended on it.

He modeled a bit for her, holding a plain black t-shirt over his upper half, over the military vest that reeked of zombie guts. He struck a few poses as he did so. “Whaddya think? Couture?”

She scoffed and turned to pick a few clothes off the shelf for herself. She felt Carlos’s gaze upon her, and she swallowed, but didn’t turn to meet his eye. Jill knew what he was trying to do; lighten the mood, help her forget. But he had no idea what it was she wanted to forget. She couldn’t deny that he had seen his fair share of nightmare fuel. But he was handling it remarkably well.

There was the likely possibility that he was coping the only way he knew how. Even as he fought off zombies, he was cracking those stupid jokes, making those harmless passes at her.

They walked back to the hotel, and Carlos continued to steal glances at her, even as she kept her eyes forward. It was the only way she’d be able to hold it together. If she could just avoid those puppy eyes, she wouldn’t shatter, break down, become another thing for Carlos to rescue.

He told her to take a shower first, and she was about to protest but when the first syllable was a croak, she stopped because the next would be a sob. His eyes had lit up as she began to speak, but immediately extinguished when she cut herself off.

She turned on her heel and shuffled into the bathroom. When she glanced into the mirror she was reminded of her nightmare, where the veins in her arms suddenly darkened and her skin wrinkled, bled, became somewhat scaly, right before her eyes. Like those things that were once people. Her friends. Strangers she had passed on the street little more than a day ago. 

After that, she averted her gaze immediately and stripped off, hissing slightly when she peeled the fabric off of her wounds that were sticky with dried blood. 

She turned the water to the hottest setting and cleaned that off first. Then she let her face get pink under the scalding heat, leaned against the wall, biting her lips to the point of bleeding to hold back sobs.

When Jill was sure she wouldn’t cry, she turned the water off, wrapped herself in a towel, and picked her grimy clothes up off of the floor. She opened the bathroom door and shivered at the cold air that welcomed her. Carlos was sitting on the bed he had evidently claimed, having turned on the warm lamp on the table next to it. His arms were splattered with blood and there was a rather large hole in the sleeve of his shirt where she had… shot him.

“Your turn,” she said. 

“Your clothes are on the bed,” he said, grunting as he stood up, taking his own into his hands. But he was smiling. Jill knew why.

She made her way to the mattress, taking a seat and exhaling deeply as it sunk under her weight.

Carlos glanced back at her as he pulled open the bathroom door, then closed it behind him. She didn’t understand why he kept doing that. Maybe he was trying to push her in the right direction, toward some kind of release of emotion. 

Well, it wasn’t going to work.

When she heard the water start to run, she unwrapped the towel from around herself and pulled the clothes that she had chosen for herself over her body. When it stung again, Jill knew she had to start dressing her wounds. She did what she could, spraying the cuts with first-aid spray, but when it came to wrapping them, she couldn’t do it without grunting in pain. She would need his help.

So she crawled up onto the bed and settled with her back against the headboard. She waited for him to finish his shower, and when the door finally opened again, Carlos came out looking completely different. He almost looked like a normal guy with his t-shirt and sweatpants on. Then he sucked his teeth when he tried to move his arm, and Jill remembered.

Carlos had brought the med-kit that was in the helicopter, and he let her dress her wounds first. The ones she could, anyway. The others she reluctantly allowed Carlos to wrap, his touch delicate as if handling fine china. At that point, that was exactly how she felt. If she wasn’t handled properly, she could break with even the slightest misstep. But of course, she held it together as Carlos alternated between peering into her eyes and focusing on her cuts and bruises, hoping she would say anything other than “Thank you” when he was done.

Then came his turn. He took his shirt off, which under different circumstances would have made her blush. Now, though, it was nothing more than a necessity. A reminder that there were still remnants of last night riddled all over their bodies. The bullet wound in his shoulder was a bit of a shock to her. She still regretted shooting him even if it was either them or Nicholai. Carlos noticed her hesitation and told her, “You did what you had to. You can’t hate yourself for that.”

She swallowed and proceeded to watch him nearly scream in agony as she dug the bullet out of his shoulder. When she showed it to him, nearly waved it in his face to show him it was out, he panted and almost _smiled._

“You were digging around in there for a while,” he said. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you got off on watching me in pain.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.” His grin dissipated.

It was just starting to get dark, Jill noted as she peeked between the curtains of the hotel room. She was tired, but she knew sleep would not come easily, not with everything swirling through her mind. 

Carlos gave her some pain relievers from the pack, which she downed dry. She heard Carlos start to say something, but he just shook his head and drank from the water bottle that he had held out for her to take as he popped his own pills.

“Should get some sleep,” he said after sitting back down on his bed. “We’ve had a long day.”

_Understatement of the fucking century._

Jill demonstrated her agreement by climbing back into her own bed. She twisted around a few times, trying to get comfortable, and eventually found herself facing him, looking into his eyes for the first time since the helipad.

She held his gaze then. It was not a fleeting, shy aversion of her eyes. She tried to see his thoughts, but all she could see was herself; her small, shameful self.

Behind her, Carlos turned off the light, shrouding the room in darkness. And that was all it took.

Jill froze. She gasped, “Turn it back on.” He obliged, and the room was filled with warm, orange light once again. But that didn’t stop her hyperventilating.

“Jill,” she heard from behind her. She turned on the bed to see him standing before her. He was looking down at her with that same gaze, and she avoided it completely this time. 

“Go away,” she muttered between breaths, sitting up and waving him away. “Go.”

“Jill,” he said again, his tone a bit stronger. “We need to talk about this. You know we need to.”

“N-no,” she said, her voice shaking now, the images of all the gore she’d seen starting to make her head pound. “Go back- go back to bed. I’m fine. We’re fine. Go away.” Her vision clouded. Her hands began to shake. She wrapped them around her knees, curling into a ball. 

“You’re not there anymore. _We’re_ not there,” he said. His hand hovered over her shoulder, she noted, but it stayed there. 

“Go back to bed,” she said again. Her breaths were shallow, panicked. That was what was happening. She was panicking. The first traitorous tear dribbled down her cheek. She dug her face into her knees to hide it.

_Brad. Mikhail. Tyrell. They’re all dead. Because of you._

Stop, stop, stop. Make it stop. Fuck. Make it _stop._

“Jill, I need you to breathe,” she heard Carlos say over the blood rushing in her ears. 

“I’m not weak!” She shouted, her head still buried between her knees. She felt embarrassed by how much she resembled a frightened toddler in this moment. The look in his eyes reminded her of pity. “You don’t need to h-help me.” Her voice slowly lost its anger, giving way to a whisper. “I’m not weak.”

“I know you’re not,” Carlos said, his voice remaining soft. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” Fucking liar. “And I need you to breathe. Look at me, Jill." Reluctantly, Jill lifted her head up so that he could see her, but she still looked away from him. “Just look at me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay." 

She felt his hand ghost beneath her jaw. She allowed him to lift her chin up so that their eyes were level. She couldn’t avoid his gaze anymore. Tears covered her cheeks now, and continued to stream down her face as they looked into each other’s eyes. 

She felt compelled to say something, now that her breathing was somewhat slowed down. “I saw them die.” She hiccuped. “I saw Mikhail blow himself up, and I saw that… _thing_ kill Tyrell.” The flow of tears increased at the words she was letting slip from her mouth. When she blinked she got a flashing image of Tyrell’s body, the blood quickly pooling underneath him on the formerly pristine floor of the lab hallway and gurgles escaping his throat as he took his last wet, bloody breaths.

She had ran away like a coward.

“There was nothing you could do,” Carlos told her. His voice was gravelly, grounding. Calming. But his words stung all the same.

“That’s what I can’t _take,”_ she wailed. “I was helpless. I couldn’t-”

She couldn’t finish that sentence, for starters, over her sobs.

“You’re not invincible, Jill. I know you did everything you could.”

Carlos’s eyes were glistening. Tyrell was his _friend,_ his brother-in-arms. And Mikhail was his captain. It was hitting him just as hard, if not harder than it was Jill. She was insensitive and forcing him to comfort her, even as his own world had been torn apart.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save them.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’re still a supercop. You saved me.”

Jill had been about to say something about the real stupidity of the nickname “supercop,” but was cut off by that last sentence.

_You saved me._

Jill untangled her arms from around her knees, and leaned forward into Carlos’s chest. She tucked her legs beneath her and buried her face into his neck, still quietly weeping. She felt his shoulders shake gently with sobs of his own, but for the most part he stayed silent. 

His arms made their way around her back and his fingers interlocked, effectively trapping her in his embrace. But Jill felt the opposite of trapped. She felt lighter, she felt a bit freer, from her pain, now that it was out in the open. 

And she also felt like there was nothing between her and Carlos now. They had been strangers, on opposite sides of the conflict, even, or so it seemed. And if Jill from yesterday looked at the current one, who was crying messily onto his t-shirt, she would have been confused out of her mind. But she just had to be there. And she would get there eventually.

When finally, Jill’s eyes were dry, and Carlos had stopped shaking, she withdrew from his grip and he opened his arms to let her go. They looked at each other with flushed cheeks and quivering lips.

She almost did it. She almost closed the small gap that existed between them, and pressed her salty lips against his. It would have been so easy, coming to her like a reflex, like an inevitability. The tone of the moment, however, was not overtly romantic. It was two broken people, beginning to help put each other back together. 

After that, they silently agreed on sharing a bed, keeping the light on as per Jill’s request. At first, they awkwardly kept to their own sides. Eventually, though, she felt the back of Carlos’s hand press against her own, and she curled her fingers between his knuckles and held it.

That was all she needed to finally surrender to sleep. And even if she woke up breathing hard and sweating from a nightmare, she still had Carlos’s hand in hers to keep her from slipping away into a panic.

She felt a little bit safer.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope that this was good. if it was, thank you for reading this. i knew that after all the shit jill went through she would be a total wreck. and though i absolutely LOVE the softer fics about jill and carlos, i feel like there aren't enough entailing the trauma, or if they do they kind of bypass it for romantic/sexual content (which is still really, like ridiculously, good). so this is my attempt to delve into it.  
> now, about my other fic - "down for the count" - i don't know what i'm going to do with it. i've had a lot of trouble thinking about how to tell the story in the way i want to (even struggling with whether i want to tell the story at all). i've lost inspiration gradually over the time that i've spent writing stories on this site. i thought that au would be a cool idea, and i know it is, but i just don't know how to execute it right now. maybe i can post the other chapters that i have of it, but i don't know if i'll be able to finish the story, at least in the headspace that i'm in right now.  
> sorry for this super-long rant/vent thing.  
> i hope you all liked reading this, and felt whatever emotions that you wanted to feel when you came across this fic! if you did, please leave a comment or kudos to let me know what you thought of it. thank you so much for reading.


End file.
